Alone at the table Cato stared at his food, appetite completely gone. Tomorrow he would go out in front of a thousand men and tell them how to fight with the short sword of the legions. A thousand men; some far older, some with far more experience of fighting and none of them likely to take kindly to being given their orders by a centurion of two months’ standing, who had only recently reached the legal age of manhood. He would feel like a fake, he knew it, and dreaded that most of the men on the parade ground would see through him in an instant.

Then there was the fact that the last three days had left him feeling drained. Two months of convalescence had weakened him dreadfully. His side ached abominably and Cato was beginning to doubt that any amount of exercise was going to make it comfortable.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Seven

Cato cleared his throat and turned towards the volunteers. One hundred of the Atrebatans stood silently in front of him, formed up, as they had been taught, along one side of the parade ground. In front of them stood the ten men from the garrison, selected for their skill at arms and chosen by Cato for training duties. Once this hundred had finished training for the morning they would split up and pass their learning on to the rest of the Atrebatan recruits. With only Tincommius to help with translation there was no other practical way to teach weapons skills. Cato turned to Tincommius.

‘Ready?’

Tincommius nodded, and prepared to translate.

‘Today, you will be introduced to the gladius, the short sword of the legions. There are some who claim this is our secret weapon. But a weapon is just a tool like any other. What distinguishes a tool from a weapon is the person wielding it. The short sword, in itself, is no more or less deadly than any other sword. Indeed, unless it is used properly it is no match for a cavalry sword, or the long swords you Celts choose to bear. In single combat it lacks reach, but in the press of battle there is no finer weapon for a man to carry.’

Cato went for his own sword, and remembered just in time that he no longer wore it on the right, as he had done as an optio. With a smile he grasped the ivory handle and drew it out of its scabbard, raising it for all to see.